Besides that, Margaretha’s lustrous pale-green silk cotehardie and dark emerald undergown, made of fine linen, would cause her to stand out. As she encountered more people in the village’s street, she saw that the women were dressed in woolen kirtles of nondescript brown and gray and dull green. Their underdresses were of gray linen, and they kept their hair covered with opaque cloths instead of the light veils that Margaretha and her sisters wore. Only Margaretha wasn’t wearing anything on her head. In the chaos of the day, she hadn’t even braided it, and it was tied at the base of her neck with a red ribbon. Several strands had escaped, and Margaretha had tucked them behind her ears.
Her dress was not her best or fanciest, but now she felt almost embarrassed to be wearing such luxurious clothing. She would not go unnoticed, walking across Saxony wearing such a dress. She had to find something less conspicuous. How glad she was that she had not put on her grandmother’s bracelet that morning. She hoped it was still safe at home. However, she did wish she had the ring Claybrook had given her. She could have traded it for several dresses, as well as for something to cover her voluminous hair, which was as wavy and unruly as her mother’s similar chestnut hair.
But first, she had to feed the growling monster in her stomach.
There were only a few shops in this village. Besides the blacksmith, there was also a butcher shop, a brewery, and a tannery. But somewhere ahead, Margaretha smelled bread.
Finally, she found the baker’s shop. She walked in and asked for a loaf of his finest bread.
The baker stared at her much like the woman in the street had. He was slathering melting butter on a slice of bread as he sat on a stool. No doubt he was having his midday meal. Margaretha’s mouth watered so much she was afraid to say anything else. Instead, she waited for him to speak.
“Half a mark,” he finally said, getting up and grabbing a loaf from a shelf just behind him.
Oh yes. She’d almost forgotten she had to give him money. Margaretha lifted her purse from where it hung from her belt. She opened it and poured some of the coins into her hand, but she couldn’t find anything of less value than a mark.
“Two loaves?” She laid the coin in his open hand. He raised his eyebrows and studied the coin, then he gave her two loaves of bread. Margaretha tucked the bread under her arm and asked, “Do you have any cheese?”
He looked askance at her. “No cheese here.”
Margaretha nodded to him and left the tiny shop. As she walked, she encountered a woman with a basket of eggs. “May I buy some eggs from you?”
“What will you give me?” the woman asked. She had the most enormous brown mole on her chin that Margaretha had ever seen, and it had several hairs growing out of it.
“One mark?”
“Let me see it.”
Margaretha lifted out her purse again, took out a coin, and showed it to the woman.
She didn’t take her eyes off the coin, but said, “How many eggs do you want?” as if she was talking to the money.
How many could she carry without breaking them? “May I have five?”
The woman reached into her basket and drew out five eggs, which Margaretha carefully placed in her purse. She gave the woman the coin, then gently closed her purse and let it dangle from her belt.
“Thank you.” As Margaretha walked, hoping she didn’t break the eggs, she realized she wasn’t hungry enough to eat them raw. But if she wanted to cook the eggs, she would need something to put them in. She had seen the cook at the castle put eggs into a pot of boiling water.
Margaretha noticed a child’s face peeking out an open window at her. As she looked at the houses and shops lining the dirt street, she noticed several more men, women, and children gaping at her.
A little girl was walking toward her carrying an armload of wood. “You’re pretty,” the little girl said.
“Thank you.” Margaretha’s stomach growled again and she pinched a piece of bread off one of the loaves and put it in her mouth. It was barley bread, coarse and rather tasteless, but it made Margaretha’s stomach feel better, so she ate another piece.
She didn’t know where she was going and needed to get back to Colin and Anne, so she approached an older, gray-haired man standing in the doorway of a crude house. “Excuse me. Can you tell me where I might find a pot for cooking? A small one, preferably.”
There was a shrewd look in his wrinkly eyes. Abruptly, Margaretha was very aware that she was alone, that she didn’t have the safety of her name and her family to hide behind, and that it might have been better to ask a woman.
“Come inside and you can have what you want.” He motioned with his hand, a too-eager expression on his saggy face.
“No, I will wait here. I can pay you for the cooking pot.”
He grunted, then turned and went inside. He came back holding a black iron pot. A young man stood just behind him in the shadows.
Margaretha lifted her purse without untying it and opened it, offering the man two silver coins.
“More,” the man said.
She needed the money to buy horses for the long journey to Marienberg. “No. Two is enough,” she said. She still didn’t like the look on his face.
A woman ran toward her carrying a small iron pot. “Here! You can have mine for one silver coin!” She smiled.